Chapter 6 - The Return
At 6:45 AM the next morning, the sun was just beginning to peek over the Santa Barbara hills, casting a golden light over the quiet suburban neighborhood.
My black SUV pulled up to the curb outside Margaret’s house. Right behind me, two massive, blue forty-foot moving trucks rumbled to a stop, their air brakes hissing loudly in the crisp morning air.
I stepped out of the vehicle wearing black jeans, a simple black turtleneck, and work boots. Hair tied back in a tight ponytail. In my right hand, I carried the black leather folder containing the 1.5-million-peso paper trail.
The street was dead quiet, but within seconds, the loud noise of the diesel engines brought blinds flickering open in the neighboring houses.
I walked straight up the stone path toward the iron gate.
It was still padlocked shut.
I turned to the lead mover, a heavy-set man named Big Dan, who was holding a tool bag. "Dan, do you have bolt cutters?"
"Always," Dan grunted, pulling a heavy steel bolt cutter from his bag.
He snapped the jaws of the tool onto the brass padlock, exerted a single burst of pressure, and with a loud CRACK, the lock shattered and fell onto the concrete.
I pushed the heavy iron gate open. It swung inward with a loud creak.
At that exact moment, the front door of the house flew open.
Margaret emerged, wearing a floral bathrobe, her hair in rollers, her face pale with sleep. Behind her, Daniel rushed out in a t-shirt and sweatpants, looking disheveled and bleary-eyed.
"What is that noise?!" Margaret shrieked, squinting against the morning light. "Who is on my lawn?!"
Then she saw me.
She froze on the front porch, her hands flying to her mouth as her eyes shifted from me to the two massive moving trucks parked across her driveway.
"Emily?" Daniel stuttered, running down the porch steps toward me. "What... what are you doing here? Who are these people?"
I didn't stop walking until I reached the bottom of the porch steps. I opened the leather folder, pulled out the top document, and held it up.
"Good morning, Margaret. Good morning, Daniel," I said, my voice smooth, cold, and entirely devoid of emotion.
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"Yesterday, Margaret, you reminded me that this is your house," I said, looking up at the woman standing on the porch.
"Today, I am here to reclaim everything inside it that belongs to me."
